


Pick me up

by macwell



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Injury, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwell/pseuds/macwell
Summary: Mac takes care of Dennis while he's drunk out of his mind.





	Pick me up

Mac can’t remember the last time that Dennis got so drunk that he had to hold him up on their walk home.  
  
It must be 3 a.m., at least. Dennis smells like sweat and vodka. He keeps forgetting that he can’t support himself, and stumbling dangerously towards the sidewalk. Mac grabs his jacket several times to catch him. He wraps an arm around Dennis’s back, and maneuvers Dennis’s arm around his shoulder. “Hold on,” he says, every time. Dennis clings to him for a few steps before forgetting what he’s supposed to be doing, and lurching towards the sidewalk again.  
  
“Christ, dude,” Mac complains, when he does it for what must be a sixth or seventh time. He holds Dennis up, steady, and looks him in the eye. “We’ve only got a few more blocks to go. Can you manage not to pass out for a couple blocks?”  
  
Dennis’s blue eyes are difficult to read, they’re so glazed over. When he speaks, the words come out impossibly slurred. “Mac,” he says, leaning in close enough to make Mac’s heart hammer against his chest, even though Dennis is objectively a gross and sweaty mess. “Mac,” he repeats, more sternly. “I don’t need you. I can walk home myself.”  
  
Dennis jerks away from Mac, and starts walking decisively in the correct direction. Before Mac can catch up with him, he loses his balance and collapses on the sidewalk with a thud.  
  
Mac’s about to say I told you so, when he realizes that one of Dennis’s knees is covered in blood - not, _oh shit, you scraped your knee_ , blood, but, _we might need to stitch that up_ blood. Bracing a hand on Dennis’s shoulder, Mac crouches down to assess the situation, and finds little fragments of green glass all over the sidewalk. Probably an old beer bottle. Dennis tries to get up, and stumbles, dangerously close to cutting his other knee open. “Stop. Don’t move,” Mac orders. “Just wait a second.”  
  
Dennis starts crying, silent tears that send mascara streaming down his cheeks and stop just as soon as they start. Mac pretends not to notice, because he knows Dennis is trying to be quiet. Plus Dennis is shit-faced, so he gets a pass for being a pussy.    
  
“I just want to look at your knee, real quick,” Mac tells him. Dennis still groans and shifts uncooperatively, when Mac pushes up his pants leg, and holds Dennis’s calf as he surveys his bloody knee. “Yeah, there’s definitely glass in there,” Mac says, more to himself than anything else.  
  
“Glass? Get it out, then,” Dennis says. “Get it.”  
  
“We have to get home first, or you’ll lose more blood. And you’re already anemic, dude.”  
  
“Anemic,” Dennis repeats.  
  
“Yeah,” Mac says. “Now. I have an idea, and I think you’re going to hate it, but I don’t really care at this point.”  
  
“No,” Dennis decides, before he even hears the idea.  
  
“Yes,” Mac says, as he tucks one arm under Dennis’s knees and the other under this upper back. Dennis goes limp when he realizes what’s happening, and lets Mac lift him up off the sidewalk. He closes his eyes and tucks his head against Mac’s chest. Mac guesses that Dennis doesn’t actually mind being carried. It’s unlikely that anyone they know will see him, carrying Dennis bridal style for a couple blocks.  
  
It puts some strain on Mac’s back, but he doesn’t really have a choice. He doesn’t put Dennis down until they make it to the apartment, and he has to fish around in his pockets for his keys. Somehow they make it down the hallway to the elevator, and, finally, to door of their unit.  
  
“Come on,” Mac says, guiding him towards the bathroom with a hand on his shoulder. Dennis sits on the toilet lid with a heavy thud. He looks up with Mac, with half-open eyes. “Why aren’t I in bed?” he asks.  
  
“Because you’re bleeding,” Mac tells him. He grabs a pair of tweezers, some alcohol, and bandages from a drawer under the sink. He kneels on the hard floor in front of Dennis, and rolls Dennis's jeans up so he can survey the damage again. One knee’s actively bleeding. The other is going to be bruised pretty badly in the morning.  
  
Dennis’s eyes widen. He rubs his hand over the bloody knee, so it gets on his fingers. Mac brushes them away, not wanting him to get more bacteria in the cuts. “Why am I bleeding?” Dennis asks.  
  
“You fell in a bunch of glass,” Mac tells him, carefully. “I’m going to get it out, okay?”  
  
Dennis exhales, a slow hiss of breath through his teeth. “Okay,” he says.    
  
Mac cleans the tweezers with the rubbing alcohol. He’s acutely aware of Dennis’s sleepy eyes on him. He knows that Dennis will cry out when he starts removing the glass, but it has to be done, so he doesn’t hesitate. With one hand, he keeps Dennis’s bruised and bloody leg steady. With the other, he uses his tweezers to get a hold of the biggest piece of glass embedded in Dennis’s skin. When he pulls it out, Dennis lets out a muffled groan, and drops his head forward. “Shit,” he says. Blood rolls down his leg, getting messy in his leg hair. Mac drops the little piece of bloody glass in the trash can, and stands up to find their most raggedy towel, a blue one with bleach stains that he thinks he must have taken from his mother’s house, because it still smells vaguely of cigarettes. He wets it with water, and starts wiping the blood off. Then Mac gets on his knees on the hard tile again.  
  
Dennis keeps closing his eyes, and leaning forward, like he’s about to pass out. He comes back to earth with every piece of glass that Mac takes out of his knee, groaning at the tug of it, against his skin. Mac feels strangely calm, with Dennis’s head bent over his.  
  
“I think I got all of it,” Mac tells him. “Do you feel anything else?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dennis says. “It still hurts.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have tried to walk without me,” Mac tells him. “You drunk asshole.”  
  
“I can walk,” Dennis insists.  
  
“If by walking, you mean taking a few steps, and then falling face first onto the sidewalk, then, yeah, you can walk,” Mac says. Drunk Dennis does not seem to comprehend what Mac’s saying. He squints down at him, his eyebrows drawing together and forming wrinkles in the middle of his forehead. “You can walk, sometimes,” Mac clarifies, before continuing. “We need to wash your knee. I’m just gonna put alcohol on it, okay, because it kills all the germs. It’s gonna sting like a bitch.”  
  
Dennis sighs. Mac takes that as his go ahead. He soaks the dry side of the towel in the rubbing alcohol. Then he tilts Dennis’s head up a bit, and tells him, “It's really gonna hurt, with all those little cuts.”  
  
Dennis’s jaw tightens. “Do it, it’s fine.”  
  
Mac watches Dennis’s face when he finally takes the alcohol-soaked rag to his knee. He doesn’t scream. He closes his eyes, and looks up at the ceiling, with gritted teeth. Mac stops when he says, “Enough.”  
  
Dennis relaxes, and watches him, as he begins the careful work of applying ointment, and then winding a bandage around his leg. After he ties it off, Mac stands up, with cracking joints, and offers Dennis a hand. Dennis ignores it. He stands up, and falls heavily against Mac’s side instead, clutching onto his shoulder for support.  
  
He remembers getting Dennis drunk for the first time, over twenty years ago, and sneaking him through his window so his mom wouldn’t find out.  
  
Is it bad that he doesn’t mind this? Is it bad that he would pick Dennis up off the sidewalk and carry him home a thousand times? When Dennis’s head lolls on his shoulder, and his curls brush up against his neck, a tender feeling bubbles up in Mac’s stomach, and he thinks _I’m fucked._  
  
“I think I’m going to throw up,” Dennis says, slowly.  
  
Mac guides him towards the toilet bowl, and sure enough, he falls to his knees (ouch), and retches. Due to his shitty gag reflex, Mac paces the living room until the retching stops. When he returns to the bathroom, he finds Dennis with his legs splayed out, sitting against the edge of the tub, looking absolutely miserable.  
  
He groans in protest, when Mac bends down and picks him up again. His legs dangle uselessly, and his feet hit the door frame on the way to his bedroom.  
  
Dennis’s jeans are covered in blood, and his shirt has traces of vomit on it, so Mac helps him take his clothes off after he sets him down on the bed. He’s seen Dennis’s body a thousand times. He’s not sexy when he’s like this, and he can’t take care of himself, so Mac doesn’t have to worry about ogling too much. Mac pulls back the comforter. Once he’s down to his underwear, Dennis finds his way under the tangle of sheets and makes himself comfortable. He goes quiet.

Mac turns off the light and shuts the door on his way out.

-

  
At 2 p.m. the next day, Dennis flies through the doors of the bar, wearing sunglasses, and carrying a paper bag. He dumps the bag out on bar, revealing a greasy sub wrapped up in aluminum foil, and some chips. Mac catches him out of the corner of his eye when he’s pouring a beer for a customer. By the time he makes it over to Dennis, he’s munching on his food. He’s taken the sunglasses off, so Mac can see the deep purple circles under his eyes. Dennis swats his hand away when he reaches for a chip. “Dick,” Mac says.  
  
“Get me a beer,” Dennis says.  
  
“Seriously? No,” Mac says.  
  
“I’ll give you a chip.”  
  
“One chip?”  
  
“I’ll give you two chips.”  
  
Mac considers the deal for a second before shrugging, and proceeding to pour Dennis a draft.  
  
“Thanks,” Dennis says, when he slides it towards him.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Mac reaches into his bag of chips, grabs an entire handful, and proceeds to shove them all into his mouth.  
  
Dennis makes a disgusted face.  
  
“Whatever, dude. You don’t have any room to talk,” Mac says, as he chews.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I’m just saying, you’re not exactly a princess over there.”  
  
Dennis rolls his eyes. “I’m not?”  
  
“You puked on yourself a little last night. Among other things.”  
  
“I don’t remember anything,” Dennis says. He tries to be casual about it, fiddling around with his sandwich, but Mac can tell he’s actually curious when he asks, “What the hell happened?”  
  
“Oh, it was super badass.”  
  
Dennis’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. You tripped over your own feet and landed on - get this - a glass beer bottle.”  
  
Dennis winces. “I remember.. some of that?”  
  
“You might still have some glass in your knee, bro. I tried to get all of it out, but I wasn’t exactly sober either,” Mac says.    
  
“You left _glass_ in my knee?”  
  
“I don’t know! Maybe! We can look at it later.”  
  
“Dude,” Dennis starts, setting aside his sandwich. “First of all, please do not raise your voice right now, and second of all-”  
  
“Nope. You are not gonna complain to me. I carried your drunk ass home last night.”    
  
“You carried me?” Dennis asks.  
  
“Uh, yeah. You wouldn’t lean on me, and I didn’t want you to fall on like ten more beer bottles before we could get home.”  
  
Dennis seems lost for words. He sips his beer.  
  
“I guess you don’t remember,” Mac says, after a beat.  
  
“No,” Dennis says.  
  
“Well, you didn’t have a great night, so you might as well forget it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dennis agrees. He holds up his glass and tips it toward Mac. Mac clinks it up against a spare glass that he should probably be cleaning. “To forgetting,” Dennis says.  
  
“To forgetting,” Mac agrees. He isn't sure why, but the toast has a bitter taste.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is a little messy - I didn't spend as long as I usually would proofreading and stuff. I feel like this one was pretty mundane (and no kissing, even!! sorry), but please let me know if you liked it!
> 
> (I’m @bravegaymac on tumblr.)


End file.
